Privileged Witness (2 page)

''Ooops.'' The mischievous light melted from his eyes.

Josie looked down then up again. Kevin O'Connel was waiting for her to get it. The problem was that Kevin O'Connel wasn't on the same page as Josie Bates. As far as she was concerned, the man could wait until hell froze over. Josie wouldn't spend one second at his feet. The stand-off unnerved him. But he wanted out on his own brutish terms. He raised a hand. She didn't flinch. His gaze faltered. He spoke:

''Think about what you said. That dead body thing. . .''

''Excuse me?''

Surprised to find that they weren't the only two people in the universe, O'Connel stepped away and Josie looked at the lady who was retrieving the phone. She wasn't exactly the type you'd figure for a good deed and not exactly the kind of woman who had business with the San Pedro court. A good two grand was on her back and thousands in jewelry on her fingers and at her neck. When she righted herself, Josie had the impression that the woman smiled.

''I think this belongs to you.''

She held Josie's phone out on her palm, putting her hand between Kevin O'Connel and Josie like a peace-maker. Josie took it with barely audible thanks. Her eyes never left Kevin O'Connel who thought for a moment then backed off. With a cock of a finger he shot Josie an imaginary bullet filled with hatred, arrogance and warning. Dismissing her with a grunt, he turned on his heel and walked away leaving Josie and the lady to watch.

''He doesn't seem very pleasant,'' the woman noted.

''He isn't,'' Josie answered.

With a quick ‘appreciate it' she walked away, too, keeping her eye on Kevin O'Connel's back. Josie didn't give the woman another thought as she got Susan on the phone again. But the woman in the bright blue suit, the woman with the fine leather shoes and the in-your-face jewels was still thinking about Josie as she started down the hall; close enough to follow, too far away to be in Josie's orbit.

''Don't worry. Enjoy the victory,'' Josie said to Susan O'Connel. ''No, I promise you, he's just trying to get under your skin. . .''

Josie opened the door and absentmindedly held it for the woman behind her. She said her goodbyes to Susan and paused on the sidewalk to make her second call. Eleven rings and Hannah answered. Home from school on a half day, homework done, she was readying her last painting for her exhibit at Hermosa Beach's Gallery C. The girl had come a long way since Josie had taken her in. A casualty of adult folly, Hannah was now legally under Josie's guardianship and anxious that Josie would not only be home, but be home in time for the exhibit.

''Only the end of the world could keep me away from this,'' Josie promised. ''You're going to be great. You're okay, aren't you?''

Hannah actually laughed – a good sign that her therapist would find encouraging. It had been nine months since there was a hint of distress bad enough for her to cut herself. Even her obsessive compulsions of checking on Josie's whereabouts, touching things to make her feel safe, had diminished. Josie had never considered herself maternal, but for a never-married single woman she wasn't doing half bad when it came to Hannah. Satisfied all was well, she dropped the phone in her purse, slipped on her sunglasses and gave was checking out her restaurant options for lunch when someone put a hand on her arm.

''Josie Bates?''

''Yep,'' Josie looked first at that hand and the obscenely large emerald ring that adorned it and then at the lady in blue who had followed her outside.

''I wonder if I could take a few minutes of your time? Perhaps lunch? It's already past noon.''

This time she did smile but it never reached her eyes. Those were filled with apprehension. Still, she talked as if their meeting were the most natural thing in the world.

Josie inclined her head, peeved at the interruption, perplexed by the invitation and dismayed by the woman issuing it. Josie had sworn off this kind of client long ago: the kind with more money than good sense, the kind you usually found in Beverly Hills or Hollywood, the kind who had a different sense of justice than the rank and file. This one looked to be particularly bad news.

Like a high priced car she was sleek, high maintenance and tuned to powerful, itchy idle. If Josie let her, she would press the gas and Josie would have no choice but to go along for the ride. The trick was to get out of the way before the flag dropped. Today was for kicking back for a few hours to enjoy her victory on behalf of Susan O'Connel and tonight was for Hannah.

''I have an office in Hermosa Beach. You can reach me there.''

Josie reached for a card. When the woman put out her hand again a sudden chill crackled up the back of her neck. Something was amiss but Josie couldn't get a handle on it. She moved away to avoid contact but the woman was persistent.

''I'd like to talk to you today. It's very important,'' she insisted in a voice as subtly deep and rich as her perfume. ''It's personal matter. There's a place not too far from here where we could speak privately.''

''I'm sorry, I don't work that way. Call my office. If you've got something I can help you with I'll let you know; if I can't, I'll refer you.''

Josie started to leave but the woman's fingers dug in hard on her arm. It took less than a second for Josie to note the change in the lady's demeanor, to see the flash of fury behind those dark eyes. It took less than that for Josie to break the woman's hold and make herself clear.

''You better find someone else to help you.'' Josie pulled her arm away and showed her back to the woman. It wasn't enough. The rich lady moved quickly, determined to have her say.

''No. I need to talk to you now. It's about Matthew. Matthew McCreary.''

Josie stopped mid-stride. Her heart stopped beating; her breath was caught in her throat. Slowly she turned back and this time she stared at the woman in blue. Slowly, a beautiful smile spread across her face. Triumph, delight, happiness were all hers as Josie's annoyance turned to surprise. Her abracadabra had conjured up a past Josie had left behind long ago. Now it rushed toward her in a dazzle of memories that left her mesmerized, almost hypnotized, and definitely frightened. The lady came close again. This time both hands reached out and took Josie by the shoulders as if relieved that a long search was over.

''I'm Grace. Grace McCreary. Matthew's sister.''

Josie shook her head hard. She stumbled as she tried to free herself but the woman in blue tightened her grip. It was enough to make Josie came to her senses and jerked away as if burned.

''You're dead.''

CHAPTER 3

Josie threw cold water on her face, dried it with a rough paper towel and looked at herself in the mirror. A second later, she did it again but this time she skipped the mirror. She knew what she looked like: pale under her tan, the blue of her eyes almost black, her cheekbones too prominent because shock had sucked the life out of her. She was shaken by Grace McCreary's appearance, was unsure how she felt about it and resented having to figure it out standing in the bathroom of Anthony's Restaurant two blocks down from the San Pedro Courthouse.

From the third stall there was a flush. Josie yanked at the paper towels stuck in the dispenser. When the door opened, a waitress came out adjusting a frilly white apron over her full black skirt. She looked like an aged showgirl: great legs and a face that long ago lost its allure. She rinsed her hands while she watched Josie pull harder at the towels. Finally, Josie was rewarded with a handful of coarse white paper. The waitress plucked two sheets from the pile in Josie's hands.

''You okay, honey?'' She sounded like a carnival barker.

''Yeah. Sure. I'm great.'' Josie put the extra towels on top of the dispenser. There was nothing better than finding out that your soul mate didn't have a soul to begin with but that wasn't something you shared with a waitress in the ladies room. She turned away but couldn't rid herself of the memories of Matthew.

Josie lived with Matthew McCreary for three years, knew him a full year before that, had an intimate-as-hell relationship only to find out that he'd forgotten to mention one little thing: his sister was alive and well somewhere in the world. Family was the one thing Josie longed for and Matthew had treated his own cavalierly. He led Josie to believe his sister died in the same accident that took his parents' lives. How cruel to the memory of his parents, how unfair to Grace McCreary, how malicious to play on Josie's emotional weakness.

Good Lord.

She had skinny dipped with Matthew McCreary in the ocean and made love on the floor of their house. She had told him about her mother's desertion and her father's lonely death. Josie had respected his pain, recognizing that he lived with tragedy the same way she did. Josie had taken Matthew McCreary's shirts to the laundry because she wanted to, not because he expected it. He had allowed her to believe a lie; she had lived with a liar.

Christ.

Matthew had told her he was alone in the world. He said he felt whole with her and that made Josie feel safe, important. He was the first man she had loved. She admired Matthew. She believed in him. They parted like adults for all the adult reasons, but that didn't keep the parting from hurting or the memory of him from lingering even after all these years.

Damn him.

Josie was happy when she heard Matthew married. She was so proud when he threw his hat in the ring in a bid for the Senate nomination. Josie thought he was close to perfect, just that she wasn't perfect for him. She didn't want to find her identity subservient to his political ambition or his money. Josie believed that was her failure and she'd lived with that regret all these years. But what really made her angry was that the mere idea that Matthew McCreary was in her world again made her heart race.

Damn it all, Matthew and your sister, too.

Crumpling the paper towel in her hands, Josie tossed it in the trash on her way out of the bathroom. She paused in the small dark hall by the pay phone. Anthony's was a restaurant without windows; a throw back to the fifties. At night, the piano bar filled with ancient people decked out in cocktail finery any vintage store would kill for. The women shaded their eyes in blue and tinted their silver hair pink. The men wore toupees that had seen better days and polyester pants in shades the rainbow had never heard of. The place served a decent steak and management watched out for the folks who got drunk and wept as they sang the old songs and danced cheek-to-cheek. But that was night and this was noon. The place looked shabby, smelled like smoke and was nearly deserted except for Grace McCreary who waited patiently at a corner table for Josie to return. When she did, Josie slid onto the black leather banquette, put her purse by her side and gave Grace McCreary the once over.

She had seen a picture of Grace as a gawky youngster so it was no surprise that she didn't recognize the woman she had become. God had played a cosmic joke on her and that was a pity. He had given Grace everything Matthew had: a high-bridged straight nose, quick, dark eyes protected by lush lashes, elegant cheekbones to draw attention to them and artistically shaped lips. Unfortunately, where the sum of the parts made Matthew look intellectual and intensely handsome they made his sister appear untrustworthy and tough. Grace McCreary looked like Matthew in drag except Matthew would have been prettier.

To make matters worse, Grace made no attempt to soften her features. Instead, she chose to accentuate them with a short slash of dark hair that she swept behind her ears. Moons of Mabe pearls hung from her ears. Dark liner winged out at the corners of her eyes. Her red lipstick was the perfect shade for her pale skin. Grace was pulled together with frightening precision and spoke with an accent so slight Josie might have missed it if she hadn't been hanging on every curious word that came out of the woman's mouth. She was East Coast neurotic all over. That, in and of itself, was strange considering Matthew was as West Coast as a body could get.

''I ordered you a beer. Matthew said you liked beer.'' Grace tipped her head back and a plume of smoke seeped from between her berry-colored lips.

''That's illegal in California. You can't smoke in restaurants.'' Josie gave a nod to the cigarette.

''The waitress smokes. She brought me her ashtray from the back room. You won't turn me in to the police, will you?''

Grace cut her eyes slyly toward Josie, inviting her to share a giggle at this bit of naughtiness. It would have seemed a little girl trick if the glint in her eye wasn't so sharp, if there didn't seem to be a dare to bend the rules lurking in her tone. When Josie didn't react, the smile faded and the cigarette was extinguished. Ground out. Pushed down until the accordioned filter was half-buried in a bed of shredded tobacco. Josie stayed silent. Grace's brow furrowed as she rubbed the bits of the brown stuff from her manicured fingers, talking all the while.

''Then again, maybe you would tell on me. Matthew said you were a letter of the law woman. He said you could be counted on to always do what's right.''

''Do you believe everything Matthew says?''

Josie pushed the beer away, insulted by everything about this woman: her odd small talk, her ladies-who-lunch suit, her giant emerald ring and huge pearl earrings, her assumption that Josie would drink beer for lunch while she sipped ice tea. Grace cut her eyes toward Josie and the conversation seemed to turn adversarial despite the compliments.

''I think there was reason to believe him. He told me you were an amazing woman. He said you put yourself through college on a volleyball scholarship. He said you were beautiful and smart and trustworthy.'' Those black eyes caught Josie's blue ones in the oddest way. It was as if Grace had studied the technique of eye contact but lost the art of it. Josie could see a vacant place in those eyes even as Grace recited her speech with such verve. ''I'm not athletic myself and I know how much Matthew admires that. He told me you were as tall as he was, but I didn't expect you to be so beautiful.''

''I'm not.'' Josie said sharply.

''Handsome then,'' Grace amended in that practiced way women like her could. ''I saw you in the newspaper when you defended that man - the one they said killed the poor boy at the amusement park? The picture didn't do you justice but it was the only one I'd seen. Matthew didn't have a picture of you.''